


Unorthodox

by Aerine



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, it was 5 am when I wrote this, should be working on my fanfiction but instead this is what im doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7660747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerine/pseuds/Aerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otherwise known as the four times you had no idea your one and only Jillian Holtzmann's day job... turned into a night job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unorthodox

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gay for Jillian Holtzmann and so are you. Happy reading! :)

Your girlfriend was an odd one; if you turned your back on her for one second she was off on some adventure, “smokin’ some ghosts” and whatnot. You didn’t think anything of it at first, that your dear Jillian Holtzmann was quite literally chasing after the unknown with her toys, as she would call them. You didn’t care to inquire about the bunched up mess of wires hanging off her computer desk, or why every night was Chinese Food Night to her, or why she was so thrilled at the aspect of keeping you up all night for sex because she would blame it in the name of science almost every time. That, and because you were just too damn irresistible.

In fact, you had absolutely no idea about her escapades until she sauntered right into the apartment the two of you shared… sporting blue ectoplasm over her… “Uh, Jill? What’s with the uniform?”

She sent you a grin, one that was as amused as it was secretive. “Your next kink, babe.” Then that skillful tongue of hers slid across her upper lip in a way that you knew sex was the only option.It was a shame, considering you were in the mood for wonton soup.

Your next words died on your lips because holy fuck, that probably _was_ your next kink.

“Yeah, okay, while that does look good on you, I’m just more confused on the gooey stuff on… your—”

Without any regard to you or your personal hygiene, she plopped right next to you on your bed because she loved being near her girlfriend oh so much. “You want Chinese food? ‘Cause I know this really good place—”

“You mean the same fu—”

Then her lips, slightly chapped but heavenly all the same, were against yours in what she believed as the best way to shut you up. And it worked, unfortunately, you melted against her as you became a tangled mess on top of your bedsheets. The blue – you had no idea at this point; all that mattered was how good you felt when she was around you – matter coated your skin, but you didn’t care. It was so easy for you to leave it all behind you in favor of one darling engineer.

Your lips parted from one another, only for the one and only Jillian Holtzmann to tell you: “Yeah. The same fucking place.”

You will never buy her those salty parabolas ever again.

* * *

 

How would you describe your relationship with Jillian Holtzmann, certified engineer – “Abby and I worked at a school. That’s legit.” Unorthodox? Perhaps it was, if you thought takeout and Netflix inside the apartment a usual date unorthodox. Lazy? Sure, Jillian often called on you to throw her a remote only four feet away and had that aura that practically spewed _I hate being productive and everything it stands for_ , but this one lived and breathed science and going to work everyday. Secretive? Never, not until recently.

Which brought you to a time that resulted in your suspicions of Jillian hiding something to a point beyond comprehensible. You figured that day would be another date night, she’d meet you at the bottom step of your school’s entrance and the two of you would take the train home together. You would stop by the restaurant of your choosing to pick up food or if you were feeling particularly exhausted from school, you chose delivery. Today was one of the latter, except your lovely girlfriend decided to drop in with…

You hurried down those steps, clutching at your bag and pushing it against your chest. “Uh, Jill? Where’d you get that?”

She poked her blonde head out the window of the van, smacking her hand on top of the logo with a huge smile. “Oh, this? It’s just a… ride my friend let me borrow. Ya’ like it?”

“… It does look pretty cool,” you admitted, “I didn’t know Abby could drive.”

“That she can, love.” That smile never left her face, and while you preferred it didn’t, it was a bit unsettling. “Hop in.” With that, she clapped the hood of the car twice, sliding into the drivers seat. Her fingers urged you inside, curling towards those yellow goggles of hers until you finally got the hint. Yet you made no sign of opening the door because the more you looked at that logo, the more you knew you were getting at something here…

But Jillian didn’t like it when you kept her waiting, so you climbed in that van; you were ninety percent sure it was a hearse with modifications, but you said nothing of it, climbing inside with a, _“Am I on crack or does that logo look familiar?”_

* * *

 

Except you didn’t smoke crack, so naturally you acted on your suspicions by climbing up the stairs to the second floor of that same Chinese restaurant, or her _lair_ , as she would put it. Your lovely intelligent girlfriend was a dork inside and out, so you never thought of taking it literally, or mentioning that lairs are usually underground, hidden. Upon reaching the top step, you were greeted with such a sight; clutters of wires, machines hanging off every table, and the occasional quart of left over lo mein. The Ghostbusters’ spot was an absolute atrocity in terms of cleanliness. Yet that was nowhere near the disarray that sat on one single desk: Jillian Holtzmann’s.

What was even worse was that she, or any of her ragtag team of misfits, were nowhere to be found. Sure it bothered you, that the secrets would just keep on going for as long as you missed her, but that was thrown out the window the moment you noticed the one space on top of her desk, vacant of all of her blueprints, gadgets, her _mess_. If you weren’t mistaken, that meant that she had the most odd ways of showing her love. Smack dab in the middle of that space was a picture frame that could fit into your palm, and you could guess what the frame held.

In that picture frame sat a photo of you and her with her eyes squinting and her cheeks numb as if she was ready to prove she was the happiest woman alive. You were beside her, your soft lips pressing against her soft, pale cheek. The camera she used was a bit wonky in terms of lighting – you found it on Amazon for twenty bucks and there was no ignoring that price, especially with student loans and crap – but one look at that photo in its clear and blemish-free glory and the only conclusion you could have jumped to was that Jillian fiddled with it somehow.

“Hello, ma'am?” You spun around, and suddenly you were face to face with a strong chest, a man practically towering over you. “Did you make an appointment? 'Cause I’ll have you know, the phone’s in the tank so it doesn’t work—”

His thumb jerked to the toy phone in the fish tank, and you were so dumbfounded by how utterly idiotic he sounded that all you could say was, _“I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”_

“It’s alright. Apology accepted.” A wide smile was directed at you, except you were more confused and ready to walk out of there. “If you’d like I can _fish_ it out for you—”

You couldn’t take it. "Oh my god, please, I’m Jillian’s girlfriend. I need to talk to her. See, she’s my lock screen, see?” You scrambled to _fish_ your phone from your jacket pocket, your finger pressing on the button at the top right side of your phone case.

He leaned into your phone, eyes squinting at the screen before him. “I’m sorry but,” he began, clicking his tongue, “I’m going to need valid proof she’s your girlfriend.”

You’ve about had it, close to bursting into tears at the sheer amount of stupidity before you. “ _Her_ tongue is inside _my_ mouth, what do you mean—”

Before you could ponder of your fate if you leapt out the window from the second floor, you heard your name fall from someone’s lips. You recognized that voice, flat yet so pleasing to the ears, and it was as if the air you breathed in left and joined the relaxed atmosphere. Your gaze never left hers as she climbed up the stairs with three others in tow, yet she doesn’t have that smirk on that face you had gotten used to. In fact, that look almost resembled a puppy as if it known it had done something to upset their owner.

This was no different. “Sooo… who’re your friends?”

The first one, a woman who reached over her shoulder to smooth her thin, chocolate strands between her two fingers was also the first to introduce herself. “Erin Gilbert.” Her smile was tight, uncomfortable, much like the air inside the space. “Is it stuffy in here or is it just me?” There was no saving the laughter that escaped her afterwards, her eyes shuffling to the receptionist – you later were told that his name was Kevin but then you realized you didn’t really care – to you, then to each and every Ghostbuster beside her.

The next one that followed, a bespectacled brunette that couldn’t compare to her friend in height attempted to break the ice. “Guys, this is a friend of ours! Gang, Holtzmann’s girlfriend.” Then she said your name with a big smile, but you could tell it was forced at the expense of her blonde partner, who’s eyes were crinkled and shut with _'I’d rather be anywhere but here even if I’m sort of, kind of turned on at my girlfriend’s anger.’_

The last one of the quartet, a dark skinned woman who also held the title for being the one closest to the ceiling, frowned as if she could not comprehend the relationship you had with the Jillian Holtzmann, the certified reckless scientist who created weapons of ghost destruction and _enjoyed_ it. A woman so in love with her work it was concerning, Patty doubted the existence of any else in her life… but lo and behold, somehow you played a crucial part in her apparent insanity.

You could have sworn that the fact you liked those pink and purple braids of hers crossed your mind at one point, perhaps during that time where you tried sneaking onto the train without a functioning metro card – you were flat broke and all you wanted to do really was kick the door open to your appartment, find your girlfriend fiddling with the wires of your computer monitor, then stuff your face with West Indian food until you were numb. Alas, she didn’t seem to recognize your face; you wouldn’t be surprised if she had to take care of many people far worse than you. All Patty did to remotely acknowledge your presence was brush against your shoulder during her walk to the table of who-zits and what-zits galore and pat your back with a, _“Hi, nice to meet you I’m Patty Holtzy take care of your girlfriend.”_ and she said it with absolutely no intake of breath or any sign she even cared.

Your name left Jillian’s lips once, twice, but the realization came crashing down on you like a pile of bricks that your eyes shut in an attempt to bear the weight. “I’m going home.”

She lied to you. She lied. Lied. _Lied._

Without another word, you walked out that door with the promise of leaving absolutely no Chinese food for her.

* * *

 

Yet at that moment, when the world came crashing down and the dead began to rise, you wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around her slender waist and tug on her short, side swept blonde hair as if you and her were all that mattered. Your arms would be a cage, a paradise because you didn’t mind ignorance and naivety if it was spawned by her touch. You were craving that a whole lot more after your pet bird somehow came back from the dead to terrorize you… and take your phone.

Which led you to your current predicament: ambling through Manhattan with no phone, over ten bruises and spots over your arms, and a desperate need for your girlfriend to be with you. For once in so long Manhattan was eerily silent, and with that you came to the conclusion that many must have heeded the warning _to not go outside there’s fucking ghosts on the loose do not snapchat them or catch them on video for the love of God_ but you were 90% sure you weren’t the only one outside right now.

Your hands were snug inside the sleeves of your cardigan, eyes on your feet rather than the destruction all around you. You tripped quite a few times – these ghosts managed to uproot half the sidewalks you walked on and destroy every fire hydrant so you couldn’t walk without almost slipping on your ass – but you felt secure where you were. All that mattered to you at the moment was if Jillian was safe at home… and if none of the phone lines were working then that was a problem. However it wasn’t nearly as urgent as what you deemed as Frosty – _seriously what even was that thing?_ – a towering being as tall as a skyscraper who was probably going to end your life in a second.

“… Well, that’s not good.” You said dryly, a frown on your lips as you watched it step on a nearby McDonalds as if it was a tiny lego. “Aw I liked that one!”

Then you heard it, your name, and you had this sudden feeling that it would be alright after that. You spun around so quickly that you were seeing two of her, two of the rest of her gang, and you could be seeing four and _you still wouldn’t care_ because she was alive, she was okay and apparently she was kicking some serious ghost ass. You didn’t think you had ever been more proud to be the girlfriend of Jillian Holtzmann, the girl who would save New York.

“Honey, I’m home!” Her arms were stretched out wide open for you, and you jumped right into them in a teary, slobbering mess. “Look, your sweet ol’ girlfriends here to protect you from the big bad. Why’re you crying?” Then she was laughing at you, patting your back in the most awkward of ways because she didn’t know what else to do.

You pulled away from her to wipe at your tears, regardless of whatever monster was about to destroy the borough. “S-Some bird took my phone, Jill, so… so I had no way of knowing you were okay and I was just so, sososo worried about you…!”

Your name escaped her in a whisper, possibly of guilt, love, you will never know. Because in that moment you were in the way of her job, one that involved fighting ghosts and, for some reason, throwing them into Michigan. That meant that you had to let her go… but the thought of it didn’t frighten or concern you. Rather, it empowered the two of you; you were about to let her go to the fight of her life, one she fought because she had you to come home to everyday.

So you grabbed the collar of her uniform and left a reminder of your own lips on hers, eyes fluttering to a close just as she returned the favor. Her arms were tight around you – she seemed so confident and sure of herself that she never thought of the consequences: _you_ and if you’ll ever see her again. – and it was as if she was afraid to let go because maybe this would be the last time she would ever hold you like this…

But then… “Hey,” you began, hands grasping at her shoulders. “Go get 'em.”

And who was she to say no to you? Those were all the words she needed, and with a newfound confidence she spared a glance at her team, the Ghostbusters, the women who would save New York. Then at you, who grinned despite the tears trailing down your cheeks…

“Only for you, love.”


End file.
